


What Lies in the Past

by theauthor2010



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theauthor2010/pseuds/theauthor2010
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' hallucination at Lydia's party brings up nightmares of a single incidence of abuse in his past. TW: Child abuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Lies in the Past

"Stiles." 

His father's voice was strong and stern, even though Stiles could tell that the man was terrified. Stiles looked up into his father's eyes and listened to him. He couldn't, however, find it within him to speak. 

"Stiles, I've been hearing you talk in your sleep. You're having nightmares." 

He had been having nightmares lately of being abused. Only, he'd never been abused. Well, there had been that one time, but it was just one time. It was one singular incident, one moment. There was no pattern of abuse and it had never escalated. It was one, single isolated incident that meant nothing. His father didn't even remember that it had happened. His father would never hurt him again. It was one moment.

Why, then, was it coming back to Stiles now? Why was he having these nightmares? 

He knew that the mind-altering punch at Lydia's birthday party had something to do with it. He was honestly surprised that the hallucination of his father hadn't lashed out and smacked him across the face. He'd been expecting it. The image of his father that night had brought back memories he'd rather forget. It had taken him to a place that he hated.

He had no reason to fear his father. "It's just been a rough couple of weeks, Dad," he said softly. "You know that I tend to get nightmares when I'm stressed out." 

"I heard you last night," his father said, his voice breaking. "You were pleading me not to hurt you. You said Dad…" 

"Dad, no, I'm…I'm fine." 

He hadn't been fine that night. He had been thirteen years old and his mother had just died. His father had been drinking a lot, spending more and more time away from Stiles and that night he'd come home drunk. Stiles had been up, unable to sleep like most nights in that year. His father's staggering footsteps made him wince. He knew the man was falling apart, but he was thirteen. What could a thirteen year old do about his father's grief while he was grieving himself? 

"What're you doin' up?" his father had slurred, turning on the light. 

"I couldn't sleep," Stiles had told him. 

The rant that followed would forever haunt him. "You hyperactive little bastard," his dad slurred, chuckling darkly and sitting down on the sofa. Stiles got up to turn on the light. It made it clear how trashed his father truly was. He couldn't even look into the man's bloodshot eyes. "Would you stop moving for once? I swear to God, kid..." 

"Dad, you've had a lot to drink; I can help you up to bed." 

"You can't do shit!" his dad roared, standing up. "And now that she's gone you're my burden, huh?" 

Stiles had never thought of it that way. His heart had dropped into the pit of his stomach. He went to his dad just as the man returned to his feet. "Can I help Dad?" he asked, touching his shoulder. "Please…" 

His father turned, striking him with a forceful backhanded blow to the face. Stiles recoiled, stumbling. He had held a hand to his bruising face and stared in shock. His father, however, didn't even register what he had done. "I'm goin' to bed," he slurred, leaving the room. "Annoying little shit's…and the love of my life dead…" He continued mumbling about missing Stiles' mother until he was gone. 

Stiles had locked himself in his room and sobbed himself to sleep. It had hurt so badly. It had felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. He didn't want to live anymore. 

When Stiles woke up the next morning his face was bruised and his father was passed out in the kitchen. They didn't speak until later that afternoon. 

"You didn't see me this morning, did you?" his father asked, his expression illuminated by bloodshot eyes and humiliation. He was positively hungover and kept clutching his forehead in pain. "I'm so sorry if you did, kid. I'm so sorry..." 

"For what?" Stiles asked, testing him.

"I'm sorry for leaving a thirteen year old kid to fend for himself while I wallowed in self-pity. She'd hate me for that. We're gonna get through this Stiles, I promise you. I don't know how yet but we will." His father had hugged him then and hadn't even noticed Stiles flinching away from the embrace. He had hugged his father back, swearing to himself that he'd never mention what happened to anyone. When his father later became aware enough to ask about his face, he made up some dumb excuse that the man had been too tired to object to.

That was the end of it. 

His father never laid a hand on him again and started cutting down on the drinking. Things went back to normal, or as normal as they would ever be without his mom there. He and his dad went on living. 

"Stiles, this isn't fine," his father said firmly, snapping him out of his flashback and back to the present. "Why are you having dreams like that?" 

Stiles looked up into the man's eyes. He couldn't tell him what occurred almost four years earlier, could he? It would break his heart and ruin their relationship with each other. His father was just like Stiles was, he'd never forgive himself. He would never understand that it was in the past and that Stiles forgave him. He'd never understand that a supernatural entity had dredged up bad memories in the form of his worst fears. 

"Dad, we shouldn't talk about this," he said.

"Stiles, I want to talk to you," his dad urged. "I want you to tell me why you're having such bad dreams." 

"C'mon dad," he dismissed. "You know that dreams are just a manifestation of the subconscious mind. For all you know it has some deep kind of meaning. Maybe I'm afraid of figurative authority figures that are ruining my life. Speaking of which, Mr. Harris has been-" 

"Stiles."   
He had always been so good at evading things that he didn't want to talk about. Hell, he was keeping the existence of supernatural things from his father, even after his father had been assaulted by the guy with a pet supernatural lizard. He was doing such a good job explaining things away, dismissing his father when there were things he couldn't talk about, but he couldn't dismiss this. "Dad, please…" he said, growling under his breath when tears started to fall. There was no way his father was going to let him get away with crying. 

"Dad, something happened after mom died," he said softly. "It was bad, but it was a long time ago and I've completely forgotten about it. I did start having dreams about it again, but that's okay and totally my fault…" 

His dad moved his chair closer. Stiles backed up but he had nowhere else to go. "Tell me what happened to you Stiles," he said. "Did I do something to hurt you that I don't know about?" He seemed hesitant, unaware of everything.

Stiles nodded. 

"Go on," his father said. The man was definitely a true cop inside, pushing the information out slowly, even though Stiles did not want to give it up. 

"I was thirteen Dad; it was right after Mom died and you were really drunk…I don't want to bring up dirt that needs to stay buried, okay?" He was nearly sobbing now, his breathing coming faster. If he had a panic attack in front of his father over this then he was really going to kill himself.

His dad touched his hand. A horror crossed the man's face and Stiles knew he realized that he'd done something terrible. "Stiles, please," he whispered, tearing up.

"You were drunk and you said a lot of really awful stuff," he mumbled, shaking his head. "You said I was a hyperactive bastard and your burden now that she was gone. It was cruel, but it wasn't stuff that you really meant. You were drunk and grieving. It's not that big of a deal. You…hit me when I tried to help." He said the words and the tears flowed freely. It was gone. It was no longer his burden like so many other things were. He hung his head and let the full panic hit. 

Stiles held his breath as he watched his dad get crushed underneath the revelation. The man faltered, shook his head and just crumbled. "Oh God, Stiles..." he whispered. It was so messed up to see his father cry like that. Tears started to fall freely down his cheeks and not stoic manly tears but desperate falling ones that accompanied held back sobs. Meanwhile, Stiles was breathing heavily in an attempt to stave a panic attack. His dad needed him. 

"Stiles why didn't you tell me?"

"Dad, I couldn't," he said softly, so ashamed of himself for succumbing and telling then. "There's no way to tell a person about something like that. You forgot, I moved on and so did life. I wouldn't even be having dreams but when I went to Lydia's party last month I drank...I had a drink of spiked punch and I...I saw something similar in my head. I guess that's what underage drinking does, huh?"

Stiles watched as his father got up and looked at him like he was going to hug him, but the hug never came. His father faltered, like he was too guilty to touch him. All Stiles could think of was the fact that his father didn't deserve his guilt. He shook his head and then quickly stood up, reaching for the man and forcing him to hug him. His dad hugged back, but the sobs that came from him hurt. He shouldn't have to be so broken by something that was dead and gone. 

He could hear his father's strangled "I'm sorry" over and over again and he decided that it was silly to feel this kind of pain; it was silly for both of them to hurt so much. It was also silly for two men who were four years away from that horrible moment to have a lot of struggling to do to get through it. Of course, maybe now that they were both facing it, it wouldn't haunt their dreams or their relationship.

"It's gonna be okay, Dad; we're fine and we're going to make it, Dad…" 

Stiles just hoped that the road to recovery was one they could survive.


End file.
